


Howl at the Moon

by AccidentalAvenger



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Love Confessions, M/M, Werewolves, and tea-making, werewolf!courf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2018-02-24 12:10:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2580941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AccidentalAvenger/pseuds/AccidentalAvenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac is a werewolf. Combeferre doesn't know (yet).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Howl at the Moon

Courfeyrac honestly hadn’t expected Combeferre back into the house but for some reason his boyfriend had sighed, stepped aside and allowed the disheveled and exhausted Courfeyrac to pass.

Then had come the silence. The pair had stood in the hall; Courfeyrac unable to make eye contact with the other man who stared openly and expressionless. Finally Combeferre had spoken.  
"We should go into the kitchen - you’re dripping mud all over the carpet," he said, his tone as blank as his expression. Courfeyrac looked down at his feet and saw that a small pool of muddy was indeed forming where he stood, slowly dripping off the remnants of his ripped shorts.

He followed Combeferre silently into the kitchen, still not knowing what the say. His boyfriend had his back to him as he switched the silver kettle on and got two mugs from the cupboard above him, angrily slamming them onto the table. Courfeyrac winced; it was the first sign of the inevitable anger to come. Silently he opened the fridge and got the milk, familiar with Combeferre’s ritual of tea-making in stressful times. He held it out, like a silent peace offering. Combeferre stared at it blankly for a while before taking it cautiously and turning back to the tea as quickly as possible.

"You have leaves in your hair," he said in a choked voice. Courfeyrac reached up and pulled one of the brown leaves out of the now-matted curls.   
“Yeah - that happens a lot,” he told Combeferre bashfully, his voice raw and lower than usual. The transformation does that, changing his words into howls. Combeferre spun round, finally angry. Courfeyrac felt a mixture of fear and relief. Anger was terrifying and painful but Courfeyrac knew how to deal with anger.

"So you turn into a giant wolf quite regularly then?" hissed Combeferre, knuckles white from desperately clutching the kitchen counter. Courfeyrac gave a tiny nod and looked away, focusing on the cracked tile he was standing on.   
“And you just conveniently forgot to tell me this? We’ve been dating for nearly half a year!” exclaimed Combeferre, throwing up his hands angrily. Courfeyrac just stared back, eyes wide and sad. Combeferre gave an irritated sigh and turned back to the kettle which had begun to hiss.

It was only as Combeferre poured the water that Courfeyrac found the right words finally.   
“I just didn’t know how to tell you,” he admitted quietly, voice gravelly. Combeferre’s shoulders stiffened and he pulled off his glasses, rubbing at his eyes.   
“Steaming up,” he muttered an excuse and Courfeyrac hummed in acceptance. Silence fell between them again, the only sound being the clinking of the spoon against the mug as Combeferre stirred the tea.

After several minutes Combeferre was the one who broke it.   
“You just - you just suddenly ran outside and changed into a bloody wolf! It was a normal evening! We were kissing and then you jumped up, pulled off your shorts and you were growing teeth and fur and claws in the living room,” his voice sounded shaky and he wouldn’t look at Courfeyrac, “You seemed to be in pain and there was nothing I could do. I didn’t know what was going on.”  
Courfeyrac felt the stab of guilt in his stomach.   
“I know, I remember,” he reassured quietly, “I’m sorry.”  
Combeferre turned around to face him, chin held high and eyes red. He glared angrily at his boyfriend before his expression crumpled and he looked like he was about to openly cry.

"I didn’t think you were coming back," he admitted quietly, "I thought you were just going to go forever and I didn’t know what to do. It’s not exactly something you can call your friends about. ‘Hey, Enj. Any idea why our best friend just turned into a flipping wolf and ran into the forest?’" The last comment was bitter and sarcastic, making Courfeyrac wince. He didn’t reply.   
“But then I got thinking,” Combeferre said harshly, “you know - once the panic of watching the man that you love turn into a bloody great wolf had subsided. And I figured out that you always disappear round this time - the Full Moon. Before I asked you out you were out on mysterious dates or trips. Recently you’ve been spending movie nights with Jehan or Grantaire or have had sudden, unavoidable business trips and I figured out that this was hardly the first time. You’re a werewolf, aren’t you?”

"You love me?" Courfeyrac asked quietly, trying to ignore the warm rush inside him at the words. Combeferre opened his mouth to reply but closed it again, pursing his lips. He gave a quick nod and turned away, unscrewing the milk and pouring it angrily into the mugs.   
“I love you too,” Courfeyrac told him gently, “If it helps.”  
“It doesn’t really,” Combeferre said softly. Courfeyrac closed his eyes, “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to have to tell you like this.”  
"Tell me that you loved me or that you were a werewolf?" Combeferre asked coldly.   
“Both. Either,” Combeferre’s defensive stance didn’t change and suddenly the words were spilling out of him, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I was going to tell you - I swear. I just didn’t know how. I just wanted to keep pretending for a while longer - pretending that I wasn’t a freak.”  
“You aren’t a freak, Courfeyrac.”  
“I literally turn into a giant wolf once a month. If that doesn’t count as freakish - I don’t know what does,” Courfeyrac said dryly. Combeferre tried to hide his smile as he shook his head.   
“Okay, maybe it is a bit freaky,” he admitted.  
“A bit?” prompted Courfeyrac.

“Very freaky,” allowed Combeferre, “How does it even work? Were you bitten? Are you allergic to silver?”   
“Can the questions wait until after I have a shower?” asked Courfeyrac, plucking another leaf out of his hair pointedly. Combeferre bit his lip and nodded.  
Courfeyrac made his way to the kitchen door but quickly turned back.   
“I really do love you, by the way,” he said quietly. Combeferre looked away, still hurt and angry but as Courfeyrac turned to go he heard the whispered, “I love you too.”


End file.
